A Brief Moment Of Peace
by Cap'n Pirate Monkey
Summary: The Phon Coast, and Fran is discontented. Balthier thinks he knows why. Short fic with hints of Balthier/Fran.


They had been walking for what felt like days, the temperamental landscape changing from sultry, gloomy jungle to breathlessly cold mountains, from arid desert to temperate woodland to breezy seascape

They had been walking for what felt like days, the temperamental landscape changing from sweltering jungle to breathlessly cold mountains, from arid desert to temperate woodland to breezy seascape. The Hunter's Camp on the Phon Coast promised them some respite and, Vaan had enthused, what better place to rest than a sun-kissed beach full of cool hunter-types?

The Rabanastran youngsters splashed each other in the shallows, shoes discarded on the jetty. Their shrieks and laughter joined with the throaty roar of the waves as they broke with a crash and a hiss upon the shore. Ashe supervised them half-heartedly, her own tired feet dangling in the cool water as she faced out to sea, seated on the end of the jetty, a rare moment of complete peace.

Fran, Balthier and Basch had little intention of joining them, not being quite as easily entranced by the vivid blues and gentle greens of the sunlit water, the promise of cool waves lapping against sore ankles. Basch had instead sought shelter beneath a towering palm, his eyes closed, head inclined forward so that his chin touched his chest. One hand rested on his lap, the other beside his sword. Balthier found this a tad amusing. So he hadn't been the only one uneasy in the extensive company of mercenary hunters and assorted scoundrels.

Fran too seemed disquieted by their presence, and Balthier suspected that this was partly to do with the fact that the pair of them had sizeable bounties upon their heads, and partly to do with the lecherous stares she had been receiving from the hunters, as if they had never been acquainted before with a Viera's buttocks. They sat further back from the rest of the group, finding shade and respite from the all-pervading sand upon the wooden steps of one of the many huts scattered across the small camp. The leering Bangaas kept out of sight. So much the better, as Balthier had come very close to defending the lady's honour. Still, Fran seemed uncomfortable. Her ears twitched agitatedly from time to time, her keen eyes scanning the distance as if for an approaching foe.

"I see" Fran said slowly, her eyes never leaving the horizon "that you have shared with the lady Ashe the story of your past."

"It seemed the appropriate thing to do," Balthier replied. "Your hearing is keener than I credit."

"I take active interest in things shared." Her eyes had yet to meet his gaze. Between sentences her mouth set into a hard, thin line. Something had bothered her in the course of their time here, and Balthier had an idea that it wasn't entirely to do with the hunters.

"Evidently so," he agreed amiably, passing the ball of conversation back to her. He had learned, through years spent almost exclusively in her company, that Fran did not enjoy voicing her discomfort. Even so, it was infinitely better to allow her to speak for herself than to prise it from her. He had tried this before and it had not ended well.

Fran said nothing. Her eyes wandered from the hard white ball of sun high above the water, dropping down toward the jetty where Penelo and Vaan now sat, comparing seabed treasures. Balthier waited patiently for her. Though silence made his tongue ache, he guessed that the Viera would speak soon enough.

A few minutes passed without a word spoken.

"Fran" he said gently. "What troubles you?"

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. She stared distantly out to the far end of the jetty where Ashe sat, a small pale dot against the striking blue. "Nothing worth your time" she said at last, and turned her face a little more toward him. Her expression was, as always, frustratingly blank, although her choice of words said more about her mood than her tone of voice ever could have.

"Don't talk rot" he admonished her good-humouredly. "However minor your troubles are, they are always worth my time, why…" he paused for effect, a hint of a mischievous smile lurking at the corners of his mouth "…should the very toes on your feet cause you worry, that would be a concern of mine. Should your hair grow a fingernail's breadth too long for your comfort, that would also be…"

"Balthier," she interrupted, her tone blank and without conviction, "I am in no frame of mind for your fool's babble."

Their eyes met at last. Hers swam dark with what seemed to be anger. He immediately switched off the charm.

"As you wish," he said with a small shrug, and she turned back to face the sea. Her hands were knotted together in her lap, shoulders hunched, a pose very unnatural to her and awkward on her otherwise elegant frame. Stranger still, her weapons were scattered at her feet, her bow half-covered with sand and half-forgotten, out of easy reach. The journey so far had been hard on Fran. She had been forced to confront things she had wanted to remain lost forever. She had had to adjust herself to the company of loud, raucous teenagers, a demanding princess and a man almost as quiet and reserved as herself. It had taken her long enough to accept Balthier's sole presence. But in the days since they had undertaken this journey he had never seen her quite so forlorn as she seemed now.

"Why did you tell her those things?"

The question took him by surprise. Fran never questioned his motives for anything, even the most foolish of ventures. That she appeared to have a problem with his confiding in Ashe surprised him still further.

"As I said, it seemed appropriate. Ashe is a hop, skip and jump away from becoming as him. I would take little pleasure in seeing it."

She seemed to chew slowly over his response. Now she was looking at her feet, her wine-dark eyes curtained by long, delicate eyelashes. "And why do you take such an interest in what happens to her?"

Balthier almost laughed out loud but thought better of it, clamping his teeth hard upon his tongue. So that was it. This was her big worry, her grave concern. The princess. Balthier had always been offhandedly flirtatious with women; this was his manner, and as a man whose livelihood centred around conning and coercing people, it was a useful manner. He treated Ashe in the same way he treated, say, Penelo; he had been raised to treat ladies with respect, and his chivalry came with a liberal dose of patented Balthier charm. It kept them sweet and on-side.

But Fran. He had always treated her differently. He considered her in many ways his total equal. She could hold him to a draw in a fight, her wit was sharp and her aim precise. They shared wells of secrets which remained untold to anyone but each other, an intimate knowledge of each other's strengths and weak spots, an even more intimate knowledge of each other's desires; how to invoke a sigh with a single touch. So how was it that Fran could even possibly be jealous?

"…you have the gall to accuse me of fool's babble?" he said lightly, one eyebrow raised in an expression of mock bewilderment. "Oh Fran, you do amuse me."

"And you try my patience." Her expression remained firm and distinctly displeased, her jaw set indignantly. Balthier was struck by how beautiful she was when she was angry with him.

"Then I apologise," he bowed as well as he could manage in his seated position, and her expression softened the tiniest bit. "But really, I am almost of a mind to dismiss your question. I should have thought the answer obvious."

She said nothing, but beckoned him with her eyes. _Go on. I'm listening._

"Whether we like it or not…and I am generally inclined toward the latter…we are forcibly part of this little picnic. And if this is so, then quite frankly I do not want to be in the company of a political pawn befuddled by her own selfish desire for revenge and nethecite. I left my own father to much the same fate. I do not repeat my mistakes."

"And if you cannot stop her?" Fran's question was pregnant with implications. He rolled his eyes very slightly, but with humour. "If I can't stop her, well, I can still get a pretty penny from her wedding ring. Buy us a little cottage somewhere. A chocobo, maybe…" his charm had finally cracked her. A small victory fanfare sounded in her head as the corners of her mouth lifted in a tiny smile.

"It is fortunate that I am tolerant of you," she said.

"It is."

They both turned their gazes back to the hissing waves. He sensed she was finally at ease.


End file.
